The Perils of the Craft
by Madea's Rage
Summary: What's a self respecting character to do when the author is less than accomodating? META FICTION
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Something light and fluffy as a antidote to all the cold chillies of ADD. This is meta-fiction, which is fiction about writing fiction. It's intended as humor, a la Colbert.**

**There is implied consumption of alchohol in this fic. **

**Love to my reviwers.**

"Look, there's just no other way. You have to write another chapter." Bright green eyes widened to make themselves as pitiful as possible.

The author shook her head. "Sorry, I have to finish that term paper. Either of you know anything about Margery Kempe?"

The taller figure glared malevolently. " No, and even if I did I'd be disinclined to help you. You've known this project was due for what, two weeks? And yet you waited until the last minute?"

The author groaned. "Once a professor…Look, I can't write another chapter right now. Why don't you both watch a DVD?"

The boy pouted. "You haven't got a thing worth watching."

"Keep it up and I'll write in a cross over." Both figures got quiet. The younger one looked ready to cry. "Can't you write for just a few minutes? You'll be up all night anyway."

Now the author looked ready to cry. She reached into her mini fridge and pulled out a bottle, opened the cap and poured a small amount into a dubious looking glass. She opened a soft drink and poured it in, took a generous swallow. "Ah, aqua vitae . Whatever would I do without you?"

The boy waited until neither she nor Snape were watching. His hand fastened on the bottle and he sneakily undid the cap, lifted it to his lips---the taller one lashed out like a snake and took the bottle. He walked to the closet and used his great height to push the bottle as far back in the closet as it would go.

"The next time, Potter, I transfigure you into a seven year old girl." The boy rooted for a moment in the fridge's dark recesses, came up with a slightly dusty box of chocolate covered cherries and popped one in his mouth. Then another. He was poised to take a third when the author got his shirt collar in a death grip.

" He took my bottle, I don't recommend you take my other drug of choice. Unless you _like _the idea of Draco slash." Snape gave a snort of laughter from the dirty little corner by the bed. "And you, Professor, if you don't give it back, I'll--" Snape's already pallid face lost a few shades as she spoke. "Black, Lupin and Mundungus Fletcher?"

" All at once. Unless you want to give me my drink back."

Snape shook his head piously. " Dear lady, much as I'd love to, you have a term paper to write. About a Madam Kempe, I believe?"

The author balled her hands into fists. "Snape, so help me, if you don't--"

Snape gave a malevolent grin. "I expect you'd best start writing. That term paper will take you some time, and then the chapter will take you at least two hours, and it's seven o'clock right now. If you want to be done by, say, three AM, I'd begin."

She looked ready to say something else. Harry, sensing she was beginning to weaken, rushed into the breach. "Please, Madea? Please? It's been a long time. We miss hearing from you." He gave her his best puppy dog eyes and a charming smile.

" Fine, fine, you win. You're both awful." Harry and Snape exchanged significant looks.

Six hours later the author slumped, exhausted, in her hard, narrow dorm bed. The gentlemen were well pleased by their latest chapter. Snape had even looked over her essay and declared it 'barely passable, almost tolerable.' High praise from Snape, really.

Seeing everything safely posted on various websites, the two wished the author a good night. Slipping a cherry in Harry's hand 'for the road, kiddo, okay?', she wished them a good night. She felt tired, so tired. She wouldn't go out tonight after all, she decided. She would put on her baggy sweats, maybe watch 'Serenity' and go to sleep a little on the early side. She smiled.

A knock at the door. Was it the RA, perhaps checking to see what the noises had been? (She'd had to rescue the soft drink mixture herself; Snape maintained stoutly it was a bad example for her to set for younger readers and therefore wouldn't retrieve it).

She flung the door open and gasped with horror. A man in sober black robes stood on her doorstep, holding a clipboard.

"Madea's Rage?"

"Yes, sir, that'd be me."

He nodded. " I'm from the office of Magical Plotbunnies. Sign here please." He produced a fluffy white quill and she signed, not without some hesitation. The man bowed slightly and vanished.

Where he'd been stood a trio. Not the Trio, a wholly different trio. The author shivered. What godless plot bunny, brought from the pit of despair, had conjured this? What old God had she offended, and would s/he accept an offering of diet cola and chocolate cherries?

"Lady, sweet lady, surely you would not deny a wretch such as myself a one shot? Just one tiny one shot, madam? A drabble?" He put his stubby hands together in a gesture of supplication and twitched like, well, a rat.

The blonde at his side looked around. "What a dump this place is. Don't muggles ever clean?" He wrinkled his aristocratic Malfoy nose and huffed, annoyed he had to go to this dirty place.

Not to mention, the unkempt woman looked as though she'd slept in her clothes, and the room had a strange smell he could only describe as a mixture of chocolate, dirty laundry and something sweet and fizzy touched with fire whiskey. Her hair was a different color at the roots than at the ends, and it needed a cut. Potter and even Snape might be willing to tolerate such slovenliness in their fan fiction authors, but if she was going to write _him_, things would change.

The third one ignored this. She stood by herself near the fire escape, singing along to music only she could hear. When she deigned to notice the muggle standing with her nephew and the little man-rat, she pulled her wand and laughed.

" A muggle! What fun! Crucio!"

Nothing happened. She tried again. Tried a third time. Nothing. Draco put up a hand.

" No use.' He turned to the stunned author and gave her his best sneer. "Well? Are you mannerless as well as slatternly? Invite us in."

Resigned, she stepped back. " Would anyone like something to drink before we begin?"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I can't write a one shot to save my life. Oh well, here's round two. Again, humor a la Colbert.**

**Love to my reviewers.**

It was the hardest few days of the author's life. Purebloods, as it turns out, are persnickety creatures. Worse than the snootiest cat you've ever met, mixed with the mean girls from high school, times the most demanding customer you ever had during your crappy college job in that overpriced coffee house. Yes, that bad.

It's hard to write when someone is staring over your shoulder. It's harder to write when someone is rifling your things. It's nearly impossible to write when someone is having conversations, or trying to have conversations, with the posters on your wall. Which they were, often at the same time. Especially the last one.

"Oi! Clown-man! Wake up!"

The author shook her head. "Muggle pictures don't move. Why don't you have a sit down, Madam Lestrange?"

Bellatrix pulled herself up to her full height and glowered. "Quiet, muggle, the clown and I are having a meeting of minds! I say, wake up! The woman shan't bother you any longer." She aimed her wand and fired a spell directly at the Joker's shiny paper face. Unsurprisingly, nothing happened. On the other side of the room, Wormtail was licking a candy bar wrapper.

Bellatrix stood back and surveyed her work. "The clown must not want to come and play. You, woman, what have you done to scare the clown?"

The author, jerked out of her reverie by the woman's rusty nails on broken glass voice, sighed and closed her program. " I'm going to bed."

Draco, sat up from his post on her bed. "You can't! We've been here three days already! Just shut up and write!"

The author spun. "Do you think it's easy, trying to write in all this confusion? It's like working in a day care for lunatics!"

She reached into her fridge and came up with...nothing.

"Who did it? Who jacked my bottle? I'll have their guts for garters, I swear I will." She gave them her meanest look which, given the fact they happened to be Death Eaters, rated not even a flicker of notice.

She dug in her sock drawer and came up with a package of slightly melty Milano cookies. " Look, Pettigrew, cookies—er, biscuits. Wouldn't you like a biscuit?"

Wormtail's beady eyes fastened on the cookies. He licked his lips and stood before her, smiling, servile as a dog.

" Who did it, Pettgrew? Tell me and you get one."

He struggled with his conscience for a whole fifteenth of a second before he blurted out "Young Malfoy! When you went to eat last night!"

She whirled on Draco. "What? I thought it would help you write faster." He shrugged, utterly impenitent, stretched on her bed, dragon hide boots on the quilt.

" I swear, that was the final straw. I'm going to take up knitting and—get your shoes off the bed, where you raised in a barn?" He sneered. Bellatrix, having seized the author's jewelry box from its place on the shelf, distracted him with a well aimed poke to the solar plexus and, while he writhed wheezing, simply shoved him off and took his place.

The writer tried to concentrate on her monitor but Bellatrix, having gotten the comfiest place in the room, decided that now was optimal time for female bonding. She dumped the box on the bed and began to sift the contents, loudly critiquing everything she touched.

"Woman, what's this?" She held up a glass bangle.

" A bracelet. Please be' Bellatrix threw it and it shattered. 'Gentle."

And so it went. The author began to crack. She found it impossible to concentrate. Finally she had an idea.

" Y'all want to want a movie?"

The three turned to look at her. "A what?"

"You know, moving pictures that tell a story."

Bellatrix, sitting ramrod straight in the only other chair, turned and glared. "You've had moving pictures this whole time and neglected to tell us?" She reached for her wand, realized it would do her no good and opted instead for a hard pinch as soon as she was in range.

The author popped a DVD in and relished the golden silence as the three watched, spell bound. " The clown! He's come at last! Oi, clown!"

Draco, lounging on his stomach in the bed, turned and gave the author a nasty little smile. " Wonderful, now we'll get to hear about this for a few days."

" Let's here your better idea, Mr. Smarty Pants Pureblood bigshot. Oh right, you haven't got one. In fact, you've done nothing but sit on your rear end complaining."

Draco quirked an eyebrow. " Compared to what you do, which is…"

She groaned. " Look, the Muse hasn't said anything about this. We have to wait. Or else y'all could go back and we can try again."

He shook his head.

'Can't. Once you sign for a plot bunny, it's your for life. You're stuck with us until you write the story."

She decided to cut her losses and study in the library a few hours. They'd be fine, right?

She showered, dressed, did her makeup. Reaching for her perfume, she was startled when Bellatrix, without turning around, yelled "No!"

"Pardon?"

" Not that one. It makes you smell like a Knockturn Alley slut."

The author turned around. " It doesn't either!"

Draco, feeling as though he should weigh in, piped up with " Well, it rather does, actually."

She breathed hard through her teeth and reached for another one. " Not that one, either. It makes you smell like a grandmother. Wear the pink one."

It wasn't worth the fight. She sprayed herself, grabbed her purse and tried to set out. Tried. Suddenly all three Death Eaters sat straight up and grabbed their arms.

"Guys? What's wrong?" They may have been irritating, elitist busybodies intent on destroying most of what she loved, but they ( well, these avatars) were her characters and she needed to protect them.

Bella jumped from the bed, laughing. "The Dark Lord! He comes!"

"Wait, what? No, no, no. I can't stand another moment of this!"

Wormtail pulled up his sleeve and showed his arm. His Dark Mark was glowing.

A knock at the door. Shivering, she opened it, praying it was the police come to arrest her. Ed McMahon with a check. Death. Anyone at all except…

"Madea's Rage?"

" Yes sir. Where do I sign?"

"Seems there was a mix up last time. We forgot to deliver half your characters. Sorry about that. If your Muse was wonky, that's likely why."

She signed the last of her sanity away on the dotted line. The man vanished. Hands reached out and yanked her inside. The entryway to her room was suddenly crowded.

Ten minutes later she took a quick survey. Voldemort had commandeered her inflatable couch, attended by Bellatrix and Wormtail. Draco and his father set head to head, having a conference, having spread her quilt on the floor. Narcissa was buffing her nails on the desk chair. A man she assumed to be Rudolphus Lestrange was giving her the glad eye from the corner by the door.

" So is this finally it?"

Bellatrix gave her a glower. " Do not speak that way before the Dark Lord! Bow and beg his forgiveness at once, muggle!"

" I will not, and don't assume that just because all y'all showed up on my doorstep that you can have a 24/7 Death Eater love fest in here! I need to study!"

Voldemort smiled liplessly. " She had spirit, this one. What a shame her blood is foul and tainted."

" Oh, pipe down. Can this day possibly get any worse?"

The door again. She felt faint. Opened it slowly. Three teenagers, dirty, streaked with blood, bruised and starved, stood looking at her. Behind them and to the left stood a tall, craggy faced man draped in layers of black wool like a giant bat.

" Are we too late?"

She gestured them in with a small, hopeless little laugh. "Not at all. Look everyone, the gang's all here."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N at the end. Love to reviewers. Warning: A single 'F-Word' gets used.**

" I still don't see' Draco complained ' why_ they_ have to be here for this." He stretched himself into a sulky mass of teenager on the bed, ignoring the glare from the other side of the room.

" I don't see why _he_ gets to be here. I was the first character you ever wrote. Well, Snape and I."

The Trio, along with a very unhappy looking Snape, were crunched together behind a masking tape line the author had insisted on erecting. The Death Eaters, having claimed the majority of the furniture, were clustered on the other side in various stages of repose.

" Because all y'all are characters in this story. Not to mention, you know as well as I do that you aren't the same Harry as the one in ' The Punishment Should Fit the Crime'."

Both boys huffed and looked away. The author went back to work but something wouldn't gel. It slid about her brain like an air bubble, chafing, working, unable to move. She sighed loudly and bent to retrieve her sneakers from their place under the slumbering Wormtail. He snored loudly and flopped, and Lucius quickly took the place where the man's head had been for his legs. The sneakers were still trapped.

" Could I prevail upon you to move him for me?" Lucius shrugged elegantly.

"Gentle lady, I have no wand. You took it from me. If you were to restore my wand to me…" He trailed off suggestively, giving her a small smirk. She turned away and took hold of her boot instead.

" If I arm you, you'll attack. We've been through this." The Death Eaters scowled as one.

She retrieved her purse and started for the door. " May I inquire where you are going?"

" The library. Why do you ask?"

His eyes raked her up and down. "Like that?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" She narrowed her eyes at his bland, polite face.

" He means we wouldn't let a house elf go about like that." Draco smirked.

" How pleasant for your elves. If you'll excuse me, everyone, I'm off. Please don't break anything while I'm gone."

"Do you really feel it advisable' the man she thought was Rudolphus asked from his post in the corner ' to leave us all here with them?" He elegantly tipped his head at the teens huddled in the corner.

She gave him her most charming smile. "I had rather hoped, sir, that good manners would prevent an attack on fellow guests while in my home."

" Ah, but Madam, this is war, not a house party. Surely you cannot expect that we would behave the same now as we would it time of peace."

" True enough. The fact remains, though,-- Mr. Lestrange?' He nodded. ' That I expect all of you to behave with restraint while here."

The Dark Lord spoke up from his seat on the couch. " Perhaps, Madam, we should discuss this issue at greater length."

She threw up her hands. "Never going to get this paper done. All right, let's talk terms."

He gave her a twitch of his cheeks that might have been a smile.

" If you should return our wands to us, then I would see that my—friends—did not hurt the children."

" They wouldn't have to. You're more than capable. Besides which, your wands don't work here. You have no need of them."

" Are you sure the wands don't work?"

" Bel- Madam Lestrange tried to cruciate me several times when she first arrived and nothing happened."

He considered. " Yes, but perhaps the presence of so many wizards and witches may well prove a conduit for all of us to work at least limited magic."

" Where's the benefit to me in that? Y'all could decide you don't need me anymore."

Voldemort laughed, a hiss like sound that echoed in the little room. " Madam, if we didn't need you then you wouldn't be here."

" Suppose I should return wands—two at a time, to people of my choosing. Then what?"

He paused. " An excellent question. Would it sway you to know we would all be more comfortable with our wands?"

" Would it sway you to know I'd rather not see my guests blasted away at first chance?"

She gave the matter some thought. " Snape?"

"Yes?"

"Would it be possible to bind everyone in a pact of some sort? To see that no one gets cursed to oblivion?"

Snape nodded slowly. " It would be."

" Will you help me?"

He gave her a nasty grin. "Why should I?"

" Because if you don't, I'll petition to bring Neville Longbottom through."

Snape considered. " How do I know he won't show up here anyway?"

She smiled. "Faith."

Thirty minutes later it was done. She took the wands from her shoe rack and stood in the middle of the room. "Hermione? Mr. Lestrange?" They came forward and took their wands. One by one everyone was armed.

Barred from violence, the witches and wizards cast harmless spells to test their power. All except Bellatrix. She stood alone, humming, eying the Trio with burning malevolence. The author felt uneasiness bloom in her spine.

Bellatrix raised her wand. "Morsmordre." The Dark Mark bloomed in the middle of the ceiling, like it was mocking the people below. The room was silent. Then, like the voice of prophet, Bellatrix's strident crow rang out: " Master, I've seen the most wonderful clown."

No studying was accomplished that night. As the Mark burned above them, the author restarted the DVD and watched as the most evil wizards in Rowling's Britain, plus the Boy who Lived and his friends, watched in stunned silence.

For about five minutes. Then the commentary started. And continued.

" Must we continue to rot our minds with this filth?"

" Are you serious? It's brilliant!"

" Is the clown not magnificent? You, woman! Are you certain he isn't a wizard? He just used fiend-fyre. He must be a wizard. Why did you lie and say he was not, muggle? Do you wish to incite my wrath?"

"It's not fiend-fyre, he used explosives. It's science."

" Look, Weasley, that man is wearing your coat. A homeless person? How surprising he'd share a coat with a Wea--"

The bed erupted into a melee of swinging fists and swearing. Lucius, Snape and Rudolphus managed to get the fight broken up with minimal damage to the combatants but the author had reached breaking point.

" Why? Why? Why? I thought the pact would stop people being violent." She turned to Voldemort, who watched the whole thing with detachment. " Is this what having followers is like?"

He nodded. "Worse."

Snape interjected from her side. " It only stops magical violence."

She walked to where the boys were being held. They were restrained but far from finished with one another, panting and cursing. She stood before them and fixed them with her most awful glare.

" How old are you, Ron? Harry? Draco?" They muttered.

" Did you say seventeen, or five? Because you're all acting five. Aren't you ashamed to behave like this?"

" He insulted my--"

" And you played into it. Has that ever solved anything in the past?"

No one said anything. She turned to the adults. " Does no one have a comment?"

" I'm tired of this. I can't work, I can't sleep. It's always something. It stops tonight."

She walked to the end of the row and looked Draco in the eye. Drew back her hand and

**Crack** " You will stop' went to Ron **Crack**'acting like idiots or I will' finally Harry **Crack** 'Make your lives a living Hell. Is that clear, gentlemen?"

They rubbed the sides of their heads in absolute shock. The author felt a rough hand on her arm. "How dare you hit my son?"

" How dare the lot of you refuse to deal with this? I'm sorry I didn't ask but this has to end. I have to study and go to work and sleep. The Muse will speak in her own time, but for now we all have to live together."

Lucius couldn't hit a woman but his wife felt no similar compunction. She grabbed the first thing that came to hand, the author's wooden hairbrush, and promptly commenced hitting wherever she could reach.

" Owww! Fuck, that thing really hurts! Oww, hey, enough! I didn't kill him!" Narcissa put the brush down, breathing hard.

" Are we even? Then let's talk about ground rules. There will be no snide remarks unless I'm the one making them. There will be no fist fights. Everyone will be polite and, if they can't do that, they'll ignore the other person. Finally, I will get everyone some food but the next person who drains my bottle dies a slow death. Are we clear?"

Nods. "All right then, I'll restart the movie."

The Muse remained silent. At least everyone was slowly habituating. The author could go to class without worrying they would all be dead when she got home.

Still, the incident nagged her mind. One night she watched Bellatrix, Narcissa and Hermione looked at her collection of muggle periodicals, especially her fashion magazines. Only Narcissa was really interested.

" Muggle, why are these woman so thin and yourself so fat? Did you not read closely enough?"

" Trixie! How rude!"

Bellatrix shrugged. " Are you saying it's a lie?"

" That's irrelevant. It's still rude."

They argued back and forth a moment until Hermione spoke up. " I suppose unless she was offended—were you?—then no harm was done."

"The filthy little mud blood speaks truth. Come sit with me and I shall enlighten you further."

An idea, awful and wonderful, sprang into the author's head. She grinned. Sat down. Began to type. The women, the events of the last few days, that horrible hairbrush. Hmmm. She wrote for almost an hour and it felt like expelling a long held breath.

Smiling, she put the finishing touches on what she thought was a one shot. What to call it?

She looked at the people around her, and despite herself felt a great fondness for them all. Even Wormtail. Even Bellatrix. She thought hard and then it came to her.

" A Delightful Diversion" she wrote, and then, still smiling, went to post it.


End file.
